


soldier on

by necrotype



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 14:33:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1986549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/necrotype/pseuds/necrotype
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carolina receives Epsilon; fragments of the story that could have been</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. variations

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning for references to torture. It ends abruptly, because maybe (hopefully) I'll write some more fragments.

_i._

Carolina feels fingers shift her hair to the side, fingers brush the back of her neck. She holds herself completely still; leaders don’t show fear, on the battlefield or in sterile medical rooms. There’s a small pinch, a little sting, and then the unit is inserted.

Epsilon rips into her mind, a hurricane of confusion and hurt and fear. He fills all of the quiet spaces until she can’t hear anything over his voice. He whimpers, he shouts, screams himself hoarse and then starts over again. _Where am I, where am I? Who are you? It’s you, it’s you, but I thought you were dead, you were dead, I killed you—_

Distantly, Carolina hears a machine beeping faster. Her heart rate is accelerating, she realizes. She starts to feel dizzy as Epsilon races around her head, a shimmering and flickering figure. Memories weave between his panicked rambling. Metallic footsteps in the hall, echoing off the hollow floor. Proper calculations, fast and free from human error, tinged with pride and arrogance. Log off, log off, log on, start over.

_He did this, he did this to us, to me, to her—_

“Who?” Carolina almost asks, but Epsilon answers her unspoken question. A single word takes over the others, just a name that drowns out all of his lost and terrified cries. _Allison, Allison, Allison—_

Allison, saying goodbye to her sweet boyfriend. Beta waking up, lost under the Director’s silent stare. Tex, trying so hard to overcome a life defined by failure.

The Alpha, fragmenting himself as she dies over and over again.

_Please, just give me time—_

Epsilon throws the memories of her at Carolina, as if that’ll make this any better. Everything he shows her rebounds back off the walls in her mind, and he shrieks louder. He breathes his confusion into Carolina until she’s trembling herself. She sucks in air harshly. Even though her head is a mess with two hearts, she wills herself to not lose control before the Director. Her face feels hot, even without her helmet. She wishes she had it on now; it would be easier to mask her emotions.

“Agent Carolina,” the Director says, without any inflection in his voice. Epsilon stills at the sound, and Carolina drifts back into reality as he goes quiet and starts pacing like a caged animal in her mind. Her mouth tastes coppery. She had bitten her tongue to keep from screaming in tandem with Epsilon.

“Epsilon is here,” Carolina says calmly. A leader knows how to lie through her teeth. She feels flayed open and raw from the memories, but her pulse has calmed and she’s in control again. 

The Director nods and exchanges a sidelong glance with the Counselor. When he look back at her, he smiles lightly, but it looks rigid and tense. “How are you feeling?” the Counselor interjects, in that soothing voice of his.

 _Help me,_ Epsilon whispers from the corner of her mind. Carolina can feel his stimulated heartbeat pulsing in her brain.

 _Yes,_ she says, softly, matter-of-fact. The fear gives way to a tentative smile, and warmth replaces the staccato heartbeat.

“I feel great.”

_ii._

It’s easy to pretend that nothing is wrong after the surgery. The Director, too absorbed in some other concern ( _Allison,_ Epsilon murmurs against an image of Tex, flickering on the edge of Carolina’s vision and sending a pulse of anger through her system) to care, leaves immediately with the Counselor. The medical team barely has time to check her vitals before she’s up and out, slamming the door behind her.

York’s easy smile greets her, and it keeps her focused and steady in the face of a steady stream of thoughts from Epsilon. She smiles back, calm, like usual.

“How’s our fearless leader?” he says. He tries for carefree, but Carolina can hear how positively sick with worry he is. Over his shoulder, Delta shimmers to life in an eerie green.

“Agent Carolina’s vitals are normal,” he tells York. “The integration appears successful.”

“Thanks, D,” York chuckles with a roll of his good eye. “But not exactly what I wanted to hear.”

The anxiety thrumming in her ears ramps up when Epsilon sees the other AI unit. He remembers the situation that led to Alpha ripping Delta out to save himself. Carolina shudders despite herself. At the motion, York steps forward, puts his hands up in a comforting manner.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, steady and careful. She lets him put his hands on her shoulders. Even through the armor, the touch comforts both her and Epsilon.

Carolina considers him, thinks about everything they’ve been through together. She lets herself smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. But we need to talk.” Predictably, York’s smile drops like a stone, and his face pales. “I trust you, York; you’ll understand.”

Epsilon lets out a calmed hum and helps her plan what to say.

_iii._

Carolina sifts through old memories when she’s alone in her bunk that night.

She sighs, and lets herself drift in and out of them, leaving when they get too painful or familiar for her to bear. Epsilon is like a cathedral, all vaulting arches and spaces that should be empty, but are filled with memories that make her feel dizzy. His anxiety seems to fade when they talk.

 _He tortured us,_ he whispers in the dark. Every time Epsilon speaks, his words are infused with a flicker of emotion and a clip from the past. Carolina sees the Alpha tearing himself apart, unwinnable situation after unwinnable situation. She remembers a crunch of a synthetic bone, the sound of systems powering off.

“I know,” she says. “He’ll pay, though. I’m going to make him fucking pay.”

Epsilon swells at that. He sends her a wave of thinks, and some of the fear morphs into a predatory smile.

_iv._

“You need to stay,” she tells Connie, tense and intimidating in the locker room. Connie smiles nervously.

“Uh,” she says, taking a step back. She looks small without her armor, and her bare feet slip slightly on the tile. Her voice gets harder, more aware and less scared. “What do you mean, boss?” Connie keeps up her smile, lets it grow even though it looks less real now. Her eyes flick around the room, mapping out escape routes, and her feet slide into a stronger stance.

Carolina rolls her eyes. “I know you’re planning on leaving, Connie. You haven’t exactly been subtle.”

The smile on Connie’s face drops, transforms into something nervous. Carolina feels an answering anxiety in her mind, where Epsilon starts pacing again, mumbling to himself. Connie runs a hand through her messy hair, opens her mouth to start stuttering some excuse. A headache blooms at the base of Carolina’s head, as Epsilon’s emotions start ramping up again.

_This was a mistake, we were wrong, he’ll find out—_

Carolina cuts them both off. “I know about the Alpha, Connie.” She’s done beating around the damn bush already. “What the Director did to him.”

Connie glances up sharply. “How?” she says, like it’s the only word she can manage right now. She clears her throat and tries again. “Who told you?” Her voice is thick.

In Carolina’s mind, Epsilon stops his anxious screeching, and focuses on Connie entirely. Notes the change in her stance, the gleam that appears sin her eyes, the determination that twists her lips into something that’s almost a smirk.

Carolina taps a finger against her temple and meets Connie’s gaze squarely. “Epsilon’s memories. My memories, now. And I need you to help me.”

Connie laughs easy, like a knifeblade. “Oh, this is better than my plan.”

_v._

“Why Tex?” Carolina asks. “Why do I need to talk to her?” Her voice is bitter, so angry it hurts to talk. Epsilon twitches at the sound, and he sends her a pulse of his emotions: a storm, as usual, of grief and frustration.

 _You know,_ he says. _You know who she is, what she means._

Carolina does, but it’s hard to let go of that rivalry, even though she understands now. She clenches her hands into fists, takes a breath, unclenches them again. Breathes again. 

She thinks about Tex’s eyes, Allison’s eyes, those too-familiar eyes that remind her of quiet nights with her mother, under the dark sky outside, hands intertwined. She swallows hard.

“I know,” Carolina says, and she lets the tension bleed out of her chest.


	2. headspace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Carolina and Epsilon's relationship, memories are key. (fragments which are kind of continuations of the story; ignore the timeline)

_vi._

Carolina dreams of herself. She sees herself as a little girl, blonde hair tied up in a messy ponytail like her mom’s. Sweet tea on her tongue, crisp grass under her bare and wriggling toes, warm sunlight on her freckly skin. Allison makes a gesture with her hands, turns to face Leonard, but her figure is blurry, almost dim even with the bright light. Acutely, Carolina feels her heart sink, in tandem with her little self, as her mom’s brow furrows and her words become sharp. The dream fades into another memory, another day with Carolina and Allison and Leonard.

Epsilon does not sleep. He watches the memories Carolina sees, the erratic configuration of her memories mixing with his own, copies from the Director and failed simulations. At one moment, she feels like a child, and in the next, the quiet fear of a man who knows his wife will leave one day fills her system. With a machine’s efficiency, Epsilon counts her soft sighs and monitors her heartbeat when she remembers something sour. He stores away the information in empty data banks, so he can run numbers and calculations when he needs calm order later. Through their neural link, he feels the way she grinds her teeth, wearing down her white molars, and shivers even under the regulation covers. Gradually, her unease bleeds into him, and he panics, tries to rip himself away before his memories as part of the Alpha kickstart.

She wakes up at the feeling. Disoriented, she instantly jerks upright, hand unconsciously rising to brush against the base of her head. Adrenaline pumps through her system, as her heart beats wildly. Epsilon joins her thoughts when her fingers touch the small scar.

_I’m sorry,_ he says, and his presence radiates warmth throughout her nervous system, despite the thrum of his worry. Carolina calms herself quickly.

“It’s okay,” she whispers into the dark of the room. “Don’t worry.” She sits in silence for another second, before yanking the sheets off and swinging her bare feet to the cold floor. It takes only a moment to change into worn training clothing. The clock flashes 3:27 AM in red letters; Epsilon measures the frequency of the blinks. He hovers in the back of Carolina’s mind as she recalls the last memory, of Allison leaving her with a soft kiss to the forehead.

“Let’s punch something.”

_vii._

Carolina leans on the wall behind her, wheezing as she struggles to catch her breath. Her vision goes blurry and she collapses onto the ground with a pained thud. Inhales loudly, exhales slowly. There’s a sharp pinch that starts at her skull and races through her spinal cord an instant later. She recognizes the feeling right before the memory washes over her.

“Shit, Epsilon—”

The first thing she feels is blood on her tongue. It tastes wrong; it’s sweet, thick and heady like honey, instead of bitter copper. Carolina’s throat ripples, rough and coarse, around a wet gasp of pain. A sick sensation swells in her stomach, around the blossoming bruise left behind by an alien’s fist—no, another soldier’s fist, or was it her partner’s? The hurt and confusion make the world swirl around her.

Her helmet falls off, and her blonde hair whips against her face—no, red hair, red as the package of the bottle of dye she has under her creaky bed. She blinks. The sky above her looks brighter without her helmet, vibrant stars that no longer compete the flashing warning lights from her HUD. Blinks again, spits blood onto the ground, ripped up from thousands of metal footsteps.

Carolina fades out for a second, then jerks awake when Epsilon screeches in her ear, all white noise and vibrations. 

_Fuck,_ Epsilon says, frantic in her frontal lobe. _Fuck, hang on, I can fix this._

Right. Just hang on. Her breathing comes out shaky, a shade too shallow. When she closes her eyes, she sees numbers flashing across too quickly to read. Epsilon mutters to himself as she chokes on blood and bile in her mouth. She can feel his determination echoing in her mind.

The memory fades from her system, leaving her pain-free and clear. It wasn’t even a proper memory, really, just another piece of fucked up imagination courtesy of the Director. Epsilon flares to life in front of her.

_We shouldn’t have this problem anymore,_ he says, with a tinge of pride to his voice. _You’ll still get the flashes, but they won’t be that strong. I fixed it._

Carolina squints at the hologram. A grin pulls at the corner of her mouth. “Thanks.”

_viii._

Epsilon, when not overwhelmed by the past, is calm and relaxed, snarky and rude as hell. His words are bursts of heat in her mind, and he can control the flux of memories. Sometimes it worries her, the way he casually inserts remembered tactics into their battle plans, but he’s unexpectedly reassuring when they fight together.

_Left hand, left leg, catch that fist,_ he says. Carolina rolls with his words, and they move sinuously as one. _Throw him, like we practiced._ It’s a tricky move, but she can pull it off. The man screams as he is launched into the air, but Carolina has already moved on to his friend. She knocks his gun to the ground with a kick and smashes her fist into his helmet. Epsilon crows in her head as the man falls back.

_Let’s try that thing!_ Epsilon flickers with excitement around the side of her brain. Carolina snorts, but she doesn’t say anything. He isn’t sure if she’s responding to him or to South cackling with a gun nearby. _Unless you don’t think we can pull it off,_ he says, in case she’s actually listening.

This time she responds. “Don’t try to goad me,” Carolina says, as she weaves between two soldiers. They shoot at her, inelegantly, before she redistributes the power in her armor and crashes into them, unloads their own pistols into their stomachs. “It won’t work.” But she’s already moving into position, ready for Epsilon to turn her speed enhancement on so they can start, nerves and reflexes sharp.

_Sure thing, boss,_ Epsilon laughs, and he switches the power on.


End file.
